poems by Rudolf Kurt Penner

Let Me Go (Revisited)

Let me go on the Rocks

– on the rocks by the riverside

too old, too old

too steep a hill to comb

no clout, no references

Stuck in the Valley

– the valley below

roaming around scattered icons

of trash by trash-west

no snout, for truffle picking

the thin birch

– standing tall amid the giants

cold and chipped

flat area brush mixing with marmots

get out, evil spirit

Let me go on the rocks

– on the rocks beside the shore

fold me up, throw me away

a blue paper napkin

flips about in the wind

…and sinks in the water

and is carried away downstream

© 2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

this is a second version of a previous poem from long ago, at first, attempted to write from memory: failed. This is the revisitation.

October 1, 2014 Posted by | All Poems, madness | , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Trust Only Employers, It’s Only A Crow

Trust only employers

those who hire you

they can tell all the truths they wish

if they ask you to lie for the cause

please be patient with them

There is only one rule that matters:

and that is: make money

if it doesn’t gravitate greenbacks

it ain’t honest work

trust me on this

I asked you for a glass of wine:

and you were only serving beer

I asked for a cup of water:

and it was only for the customers

it was only caffeine for the workers; they want you buzzing

There is only on radical around here:

and he is out of a job, just now

you can only hold your own so long

some hold it forever

They don’t bitch and complain and tell you what’s wrong

If grass don’t grow here, ‘s something wrong:

for it is the season

somebody put something there

and now it won’t grow

gasoline, or radiation, or concrete

That bird is sick:

it can’t fly away

it’s here to stay

that bird over there” it’s sick too

but I know, it’s only a crow, and that is how it goes

© 2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

October 1, 2014 Posted by | All Poems | , , , , , | 1 Comment


We spit out, over and over again,

what we’ve been told

I’m better at hiding it, because I

read more varied sources, and

you might be hard pressed to name them

Our own thots are rare, and really only a

reflection of those in orbit

Like parrots we go gabbing all day long

pronouncing the fate of millions,

America, Afghanistan, Iraq

horses, hidden in the barn

at the back of the farm

the future of sad billions, not really

ours to dwell upon. Altho a

kind word in the right direction, might help

a kite, in the brite sky, flying so gaily

the mail still arrives daily

mostly junk mail, invitations for a credit line,

tempting your already unhealthy brain.

Somebody spent a lot of money on those little ads

here or there a duck, listening to Styx music

a quick nickel from the sidewalk

and a bit of bark for tea

ne’ry a dog that doesn’t pee all over

a black dressed man horks in

front of him, far too close to you.

©2011 Rudolf Kurt Penner

October 1, 2014 Posted by | All Poems, esoteric/unintelligible, making speeches/Soapbox | , , , | 1 Comment

the man with the black guitar

no the black man with the guitar and rollerskates

the busking skinny man in Gastown

with the voice – what a voice

– what a memory –

– someone who created ‘the scene’ –

and will never be famous

in the dark fall evenings

you could hear him

1/2 a block away

and my face would light up long before

ever getting to him

perched on the ass-freezing concrete

sometimes, oodles of months later

with no guitar: just that voice

the voice that can cut the dark blackness anyday

©2010 Rudolf Kurt Penner

October 1, 2014 Posted by | about artists/poets, All Poems | , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

My Batteries Have Run Dry

My batteries have run dry

altho I feel like doing something

I can’t ––

–– there is no energy whatsoever

Life has left me

Tired of all the bullshit

especially other people domineering

They get on top ––

I stay on the bottom

Life living in a pup tent

on the back of someone’s property

with a big house in the foreground

By my watch it is a quarter past 10

way past some people’s bedtime

and here we are ––

swinging from some suspension bridge

with a Daytimer in my hand

© 2012 Rudolf Kurt Penner

October 1, 2014 Posted by | All Poems | , | 1 Comment